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The  Carpenter's  Son 
The  Leader  of  Men 


A  Christmas  Preparation  Sermon 
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THE  CARPENTER'S  SON— THE 
LEADER  OF  MEN. 


A   CHRISTMAS  PREPARATION   SERMON   BY  JENKIN   LLOYD 
JONES,  DELIVERED  IN  ALL  SOULS  CHURCH,  CHI- 
CAGO,   SUNDAY,    DECEMBER    II,     I904. 

And  the  Word  became  -flesh,  and  dwelt  among  us 
and  we  beheld  his  glory,  glory  as  of  the  only  begotten 
from  the  Father.  ■. — John  1 114. 

I  am  compelled  to  think  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth  as 
an  epoch-marking  soul,  an  era-forming  spirit,  a  char- 
acter in  whom  the  light  of  an  illustrious  race  and  a 
holy  ancestry  was  focalized,  a  personality  from  which 
radiated  that  subtle,  creative  power  of  the  spirit  which 
defies  all  analysis,  which  baffles  definition,  which  over- 
flows all  words. 

Outside  the  realm  of  religion  we  sometimes  try  to 
indicate  this  power  by  the  word  "genius;"  within  the 
realms  of  religion  it  is  called  "inspiration,"  "revela- 
tion," "incarnation,"  the  words  varying  with  the  stand- 
point of  the  speaker.  Whatever  it  is,  I  am  compelled 
to  think  of  him  as  one  who  won  the  right  of  pre-emin- 
ence in  the  world's  history ;  one  to  whom  it  was  given 
to  be.  the  source  of  a  religious  movement  beyond  his 
seeking  and  in  very  many  respects  different  from  his 
thinking.  He  was  a  man  destined  to  be  enveloped  in 
a  mystic  mantle  of  myth,  legend  and  dogma  which  a 
loving  constituency  wove  out  of  the  poetry  that  belongs 
to  the  common  heart  of  man. 

This  man  is  best  understood  and  most  truly  measured 
by  the  comparative  method.  He  is  best  studied  when 
placed  among  his  giant  companions — Moses,  Zoroas- 
ter, Confucius,  Buddha,  Sokrates  and  Mohammed. 
All  of  these,  like  him,  in  due  time  were  submerged  by 
the  adoration  of  those  who  loved  them,  concealed  by 
the  love-growth  of  loyal   followers.     All  these  souls 


4257 1 r 


are  inexplicable^  as  indeed  is  the  soul  of  Shakespeare, 
Newton,  Lincoln;'-  JndeWd  the  mystery  deepens  around 
every  baVe;  ;o!r  whom  the  Nazarene  said,  "Of  such  is 
the  kingdom  of  heaven." 

I  love  to  think  of  Jesus  as  a  man  whose  daily  con- 
versation was  rich  with  a  "veined  humanity."  Frag- 
ments of  that  conversation  now  constitute  the  immeas- 
urable treasures  of  the  gospel  story,  the  undying 
maxims  of  righteousness,  and  the  beckoning  standards 
of  the  spiritual  life.  I  know  that  this  testimony  of 
history,  this  chorus  of  redeemed  souls,  this  elevated- 
humanity  that  testifies  to  his  power,  has  been  to  the 
great  majority  of  his  followers  and  lovers  adequate 
evidence  of  his  Deity;  this  fruit,  say  they,  is  such  as 
becomes  a  God  and  not  a  man. 

But  I  love  to  think  of  this  man  as  one  whose  divinity 
is  testified  to  by  his  human  tears,  by  his  affections  for 
the  lowly,  by  his  sympathy  with  the  bruised  and  the 
broken.  I  love  to  think  that  it  was  a  man's  heart 
that  went  out  to  distracted,  sin-stained  women,  to  un- 
tutored fishermen,  and  to  innocent  children  whose  art- 
less prattle  was  to  him  the  parables  of  heaven.  I  love 
to  think  that  his  divinity  came  to  him  through  the  holy 
generation  of  such  a  father  and  mother  as  made  re- 
generation unnecessary.  Independent  of  ecclesiastical 
formulas,  relieved  from  the  traditional  accretions  of  an 
uncritical  age  and  an  unscientific  theology,  I  find  him 
a  peasant-prophet  whose  inherent  excellence  pierces  the 
darkness  that  envelops  a  remote  age,  an  obscure  loca- 
tion, and  the  untutored  neighbors  who  first  met  him 
with  suspicion  and  indignation  and  then  surrendered 
to  him  their  ungrudging  love,  their  uncalculated  appre- 
ciation. 

In  short,  I  am  compelled  to  think  that  this  Light 
of  Souls,  this  saving  and  redeeming  spirit,  was  the 
loved  and  loving  child  of  Joseph,  the  carpenter,  and 
the  loyal  wife,  Mary.  I  believe  this,  notwithstanding 
the  stories  of  immaculate  conceptions,  star-guided  magi, 
choiring  angels  and  adoring  shepherds  that  gathered 
around  the  birth-night.  In  the  light  of  comparative 
study,  all  this  is  the  beautiful  poetry  that  unconsciously 
springs  from  the  untutored  heart  of  after-generations, 


the  growth  of  which  is  no  more  mystic  than  is  the 
growth  of  the  lily  from  seeds  the  birds  have  carried  and 
the  winds  have  planted.  The  conditions  of  holy  birth 
and  high  generation  are  too  subtle  for  human  analysis. 
The  ways  of  history  are  the  ways  of  God,  and  his 
ways  are  beyond  finding  out. 

Sokrates  was  the  son  of  a  stone-cutter ;  Buddha  was 
born  in  a  palace;  but  cradled  in  kingly  palace,  the 
humble  home  of  an  artisan,  or  born  where  the  cattle 
were,  the  same  obscurity  envelops  the  origin.  All  this 
obscurity  does  not  disprove  the  glowing  fact  that  a 
spirit  thus  cradled  did  grow  into  truth-telling,  right- 
seeking,  man-loving  power.  The  abject  worship  and 
the  unlimited  rhetoric  imbedded  in  the  adoration  of 
subsequent  ages  testify  to  the  sublime  reality. 

Said  William  Hunt,  the  great  philosopher  artist  of 
Boston,  "Michael  Angelo  was  a  soul  so  great  that  sub- 
sequent generations  have  given  us  no  man  large  enough 
to  understand  him.,,  The  truest  thing  we  can  say 
about  the  homely  face  of  Abraham  Lincoln  is  that  the 
care-taking  lines  which  make  so  benignant  that  face 
were  furrowed  by  a  spirit  so  large  that  no  one  of  us  is 
yet  fully  able  to  understand  him.  We  shout  his  name, 
we  prattle  his  praises,  but  when  it  comes  to  the  matter 
of  measurements,  the  word  "man"  no  more  bounds  his 
power  than  does  the  word  "God."  Some  center  to 
either  we  may  indicate,  but  the  circumference  of  both 
alike  are  lost  beyond  the  outermost  reach  of  our  ken. 
Indeed,  take  the  variest  babe  crooning  at  a  loving 
mother's  breast,  and 

"Draw    who   can    the  mystic  line, 
Which  is  human,  which  divine." 

I  read  with  pleasure  the  battle  hymn  in  the  Book 
of  Joshua  that  sings  of  the  sun  standing  still  upon 
Gibeon  and  of  the  moon  standing  still  over  the  Val- 
ley of  Ajalon  that  the  chosen  people  might  complete 
their  conquest ;  but- 1  cannot  accept  this  poem  as  his- 
tory or  allow  it  to  confuse  my  sense  of  the  divine  con- 
tinuity and  the  great  impartiality  of  holy  law. 

There  is  unspeakable  interest  in  the  primitive  crea- 
tion hymn  we  find  in  Genesis,  but  that  must  not  dis- 


turb  my  faith  in  the  record  of  the  rocks  and  my  interest 
in  the  science  of  geology  or  astronomy. 

The  birth  and  cradle  legends  of  Buddha  are  fra- 
grant as  a  flower  garden,  but  in  rejecting  them  as  his- 
tory I  am  guilty  of  no  irreverence  and  my  denials 
savor  of  no  profanity. 

So  with  this  carpenter's  son :  I  remember  that  all 
these  gospel  narratives  are  but  the  inadequate  and 
sometimes  incoherent  transcription  of  traditions 
gathered  from  the  loving  but  oftentimes  fantastic  re- 
production of  the  imaginations  and  recollections  of  im- 
perfect and  untrained  minds  from  fifty  to  one  hundred 
and  fifty  years  after  the  fertile  life  had  been  closed 
on  Calvary.  I  remember  that  the  alleged  genealogies 
of  this  Nazarene  are  obviously  imperfect,  fanciful,  even 
grotesque.  These  very  fancies,  or  those  like  them, 
were  in  the  world  before  the  founder  of  Christianity 
was  born,  and  the  one  throws  light  upon  the  other. 

And  so  I  must  go  back  of  legend  and  miracle,  below 
the  myth  and  tradition,  and  find  more  adequate  founda- 
tions for  the  reverence  of  the  world  and  a  higher  claim 
for  my  own  interest  in  and  loyalty  to  the  road-side 
texts  and  lake-side  parables  which  were  dropped  into 
the  fertile  soil  of  the  human  heart  where  they  germina- 
ted, bloomed  and  bore  fruit.  I  know  that  the  peasant 
was  soon  lost  in  the  Savior,  and  that  Jesus,  who  was 
indeed  the  Son  of  God,  as  was  his  carpenter  father 
before  him,  soon  became  the  Christ,  or  God  the  Son ; 
a  confusion  easily  explained  by  the  student  of  psychol- 
ogy; a  confusion  that  was  not  all  a  mistake,  but  there 
comes  a  time  when  the  confusion  is  damaging.  Did  not 
he  say,  "Know  ye  not  that  ye  are  the  children  of  God, 
and  the  spirit  of  God  dwelleth  in  you?" 

Mr.  Crooker,  in  his  recent  book  on  "The  Supremacy 
of  Jesus,"  estimates  that  there  are  some  two  hundred 
sayings  and  twenty-five  parables  of  Jesus  found  in  the 
New  Testament.  These  sayings  and  parables  of  Je- 
sus Thomas  TerTerson  arranged  into  one  consistent 
whole,  according  to  his  own  judgment,  and  he  was 
delighted  to  find  it  a  hand-book  of  morals  of  superla- 
tive value.  The  Congress  of  the  United  States  has  re- 
cently done  itself  the  credit  of  officially  printing  a  fac- 


simile  reproduction  of  this  manuscript  book  of  Thomas 
Jefferson,  which  now  constitutes  one  of  the  treasures 
of  the  Congressional  library. 

Now  when  Jefferson  eliminated  the  miraculous  and 
the  fabulous  and  the  more  or  less  distorted  estimates 
of  his  inadequate  biographers,  he  was  offering  no  in- 
dignity to  the  Christ  of  history,still  less  to  the  Jesus  of 
the  gospel.  He  was  but  discriminating  in  the  interest  of 
the  gold ;  laying  hold  of  what  is  most  distinctive,  bring- 
ing into  view  the  imperishable.  Christendom  has  had  a 
finer  instinct  than  the  theologians  of  Christendom; 
for  the  common  people  in  the  Christian  church  have  al- 
ways loved  the  parables  more  than  the  miracles,  al- 
though the  theologians  have  based  their  arguments  on 
the  miracles.  The  story  of  the  Good  Samaritan  has 
had  a  power  beyond  the  story  of  the  senseless  blight- 
ing of  the  fig  tree;  the  ages  have  loved  to  think  of 
Jesus  talking  with  the  woman  at  the  well  more  than 
they  have  loved  to  think  of  him  as  manufacturing  wine 
at  Cana.  No  man  is  so  orthodox  but  that  he  reads 
more  often  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  than  he  does  the 
story  of  the  drowning  of  the  pigs. 

In  rejecting  the  incredible  birth  stories,  the  authority 
of  the  Golden  Rule  is  reaffirmed.  The  early  story  of 
religions  everywhere  has  plenty  of  unfathered  children. 
The  saints  and  sages  of  the  older  world,  as  a  rule,  have 
come  into  the  world  heralded  by  super-mundane  signs, 
over  preternatural  roads,  according  to  the  devout  tra- 
ditions of  their  grateful  followers.  The  old-world  lit- 
erature is  full  of  miracles,  many  of  them  as  beautiful 
and  tender  as  those  of  the  New  Testament,  but  the 
beautitudes  are  scarce;  the  divine  charity  which  was 
also  God-like  justice,  such  as  soothed  the  Magdalen  and 
said  to  the  erring,  "Neither  do  I  condemn  thee ;  go 
sin  no  more,"  is  as  exceptional  as  it  is  inspiring.  It  is 
between  the  miracle  lines  of  the  New  Testament  that 
we  discover  the  man  Jesus  who  "went  about  doing 
good." 

But  do  you  turn  away  from  Bible  texts  and  point 
to  the  facts  of  history?  Very  well.  Call  the  splendid 
roll  of  martyrs,  the  white-robed  line  of  saints ;  offer  the 
majestic  cathedrals,  the  great  pictures,  sublime  music, 


the  dauntless  crusaders .  who  now  in.  physical  arma- 
ment and  again  in  the  more  invulnerable  armament  of 
the  spirit,  went  forth,  reckless  of  danger,  regardless  of 
cost,  to  rescue  the  world  from  heathen  hands  or  to 
gather  souls  into  the  fold  of  Christ;  account  the  com- 
plex activities  of  missionary  societies,  reformatories,, 
hospitals,  schools,  charities,  churches,  as  indisputable 
eviaence  that  only  a  God-man  could  be  the  adequate 
source  and  inspiration  of  such.  Do  you  urge  that 
all  these  prove  that  a  God  rather  than  a  man  must 
have  wrought  all  this? 

Yea,  verily,  it  is  the  work  of  God,  but  the  work  of 
God  through  man,  the  Divine  who  tabernacles  in 
the  human. 

There  are  other  great  religious  systems  in  the 
world.  Buddha  conquered  greater  tyrannies,  over- 
came more  arrogant  pride,  broke  down  the  iron  walls 
of  caste,  made  pitiful  great  sections  of  humanity,  and 
is  today  revered  bv  more  souls  than  take  upon  them- 
selves the  name  of  the  Christ. 

Buddhism  and  Christianity  hold  no  monopoly  of 
moral  wealth.  Humilitv,  love  and  self-sacrifice,  though 
so  little  understood,  so  grudeinglv  practiced,  these 
have  world-wide  foundations.  There  are  many  world- 
conquering  traditions.  Rome  under  Pagan  banners 
once  came  near  possessing  the  world;  the  drum-beat 
of  England  is  today  heard  around  the  globe;  certainly 
that  of  itself  is  not  adequate  proof  of  the  peculiar 
partiality  of  God  to  Anglo-Saxon  prowess. 

Not  all  of  Christendom  is  of  Jesus;  its  theology  is 
more  of  Paul  than  of  the  Nazarene,  and  the  time  has 
been  when  the  sword,  which  Jesus  condemned,  played 
an  important  part  in  the  triumphs  of  Christen- 
dom. Today  the  ecclesiasticism  in  which  Jesus  would 
have  no  delight,  dominates  perhaps  the  larger  sections 
of  Christendom,  and  this  ecclesiasticism,  though  not 
of  the  Christ,  is  unquestionably  an  element  in  his- 
toric Christendom. 

Jesus  ought  to  be  held  only  partially  responsible  for 
Christendom :  from  him  comes  one  stream,  albeit  the 
purest  and  dearest,  into  that  mighty  tide  fed  from 
manv  tributaries.     His  contribution  is  not  the  marvels 


of  the  Christian  faith,  but  the  simplicity  of  Christian 
morals.  The  divine  achievements  in  the  Pantheons 
of  the  older  world,  the  post-biblical  miracles  of  the 
Christian  church  make  dim  and  small  the  miracles  of 
the  New  Testament.  But  the  benignities  of  the  beati- 
tudes were  refreshing  utterances  in  their  day,  and  suc- 
ceeding ages  have  not  over-reached  the  self-sacrif\cing 
love,  the  divine  patience,  the  wide  charity,  the  sublime 
morality  of  this  son  of  the  carpenter.  Science,  travel, 
commerce,  learning,  criticism,  have  broken  down 
many  a  peculiar  claim  of  Christian  theology,  but  all 
of  them  unite  in  glorifying  the  humanities  of  the  New 
Testament. 

The  enthusiasm  of  the  Master  finds  in  Matthew 
Arnold  a  champion  as  unqualified  as  in  Savonarola, 
and  the  beatitudes  are  reflected  as  joyfully  and  grate- 
fullv  in  the  pages  of  Emerson  as  in  the  sermons  nf 
Tohn  Wesley.  The  Man  of  Nazareth  abides  while 
bishops  and  synods,  preachers  and  deacons,  bewail  the 
decline  of  faith  and  the  waning  of  Christian  doctrine 

All  that  John  Fiske  wrote  and  did  was  in  his  mind 
but  the  wise  training  of  a  master  workman  for  what 
he  hoped  would  be  his  magnum  opus,  a  study  of  Je- 
sus of  Nazareth  and  the  founding  of  Christianity,  an 
adequate  study  of  which,  to  his  thought,  was  possible 
only  to  one  who  felt  the  deep  human  foundations  of 
the  Man  of  Nazareth.  Such  a  studv  would  find  Jesus 
a  mighty  factor  in  human  history.  Christianity  a  prod- 
uct of  nature,  law-environed,  and  on  that  account  an 
emanation  from  God.  Such  a  study  must  start  out 
with  the  assumption  that 

"The  litanies  of  nations  came 
Like  the  volcano's  tongue  of  flame, 
Up  from  the  burning  core  below 
The  canticles  of  love  and  woe." 

Such  studies  indeed  justify  the  poet's  vision,  for 
England's  abbeys  do  take  their  place  "with  Andes  and 
with  Ararat." 

But  do  you  turn  from  text  and  from  history  and 
appeal  to  psychology?  Do  you  urge  that  the  soul  hath 
need  of  a  supernatural  Savior ;  that  the  sinner  demands 
a  mediator:  that  the  heart  hungers  for  some  divine 


expiation,  a  heaven-sent  Redeemer ;  that  the  blood  of 
the  innocent  must  needs  wash  away  the  stains  of  the 
guilty  ? 

Of  course  this  appeal  to  the  soul  must  be  answered 
by  each  soul  for  itself.  I  may  not  speak  for  others, 
but  for  myself  I  ask  for  no  mediation  between  me  and 
the  sunlight.  My  heart  rejoices  in  the  thought  of  the 
infinitely  near.  The  thought  of  God  is  my  sufficient 
creed. 

That  is  a  poor  father  whose  face  is  dreaded  by  his 
child,  even  in  moments  of  its  direst  disgrace.  No  face 
can  be  so  full  of  tenderness  as  the  face  of  infinite  love. 
The  eternal  justice  must  be  the  ultimate  resting  place 
of  the  sin-smitten.  As  I  hope  for  peace,  I  ask  for 
nothing  less  and  for  nothing  more  than  justice.  I  have 
nothing  more  acceptable  to  offer  to  the  Divine  than 
the  manliness  that  will  not  seek  even  his  presence  in 
roundabout  ways,  though  it  be  by  way  of  Jerusalem 
or  over  the  top  of  Calvary.  The  thought  of  the  Christ 
as  a  God  sent  out  of  heaven,  and  caught  back  to 
heaven,  who  by  some  supernatural  procedure  may 
snatch  my  soul  as  a  brand  from  the  burning,  does  not 
satisfy  my  thought ;  it  lacks  the  rhythm  of  the  universe, 
the  harmony  of  justice.  As  for  myself,  there  is  saving 
power  in  the  thought  of  a  humanity  that  reaches  from 
Judas  to  Jesus. 

"I  will  look  unto  the  hills  from  whence  cometh  my 
strength."  We  valley-dwellers  may  look  up  towards 
mountain  heights  that  are  more  inspiring  than  the 
ranges  of  the  Himalayas — the  mountain  peaks  of  soul, 
the  prophetic  ranges  where  we  catch  glimpses  of  So- 
cratic  heights,  Sakya-Muni  peaks  and  Nazarene  table- 
lands ;  and  there  is  a  pathway  from  each  of  these  to 
the  humblest  human  heart.  From  the  valley  where 
we  are  to  the  rarest  tablelands  of  God,  there  is  a  path' 
on  which  human  feet  have  trod  and  may  still  travel. 

This  conception  of  Jesus  fills  me  with  the  ambition 
of  an  Alpine  climber.  I  turn  away  from  the  theo- 
logical Christ  that  I  may  lay  hold  of  the  man  Jesus ; 
that  I  may  face  dangers  as  he  did ;  stand  censure  as  he 
could ;  endure  defeat  like  him ;  triumph  over  death 
and  be  glad  in  my  adversity.    I  love  to  believe  that  he 

10 


did  as  a  man  nineteen  centuries  ago  in  Judea  that 
which  I  as  a  man  may,  aye,  ought  to  dare  do  today 
in  Chicago.  I  love  to  think  that  as  God  used  his  hu- 
man hands  to  heal  and  to  soothe  in  no  miraculous 
fashion,  there  are  such  uses  in  store  for  my  hands. 
As  I  see  his  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  he  stands  with 
Mary  and  Martha  by  the  open  grave,  I  find  unsus- 
pected depths  in  the  wells  of  sympathy  in  my  own 
soul.  I  believe  in  the  splendid  manhood  of  Jesus 
because  I  believe  in  the  latent  manhood  in  your  soul 
and  mine.  In  ennobling  the  man  I  revere  his  father — 
God.  Believing  in  the  integrity  of  Jesus,  I  substan- 
tiate my  faith  in  the  integrity  of  the  universe,  which 
works  well  without  intervention  or  interruption  by  any 
order-disturbing  power  on  earth  or  in  heaven.  With 
Emerson,  I  believe  in  that  heaven  my  soul  forecasts, 
the  heaven  revealed  in  the  "shining  laws  that  are  to 
round  into  full  circle  and  complete  grace,  linking  the 
law  of  gravitation  with  purity  of  heart,  making  ought 
and  duty  one  thing  with  science,  with  beauty,  and  with 
joy." 

I  believe  that  this  thought  of  a  humanitarian  Jesus, 
a  carpenter's  son  as  a  leader  of  men,  gives  to  religion  a 
broader  and  deeper  foundation  than  any  Christianity 
that  the  world  has  yet  known ;  it  makes  for  a  religion 
that  soothes  the  heart  as  well  as  satisfies  the  head. 
It  gives  a  religion  that  is  its  own  evidence.  Who  can 
fathom  the  power  of  personality?  It  goes  deeper 
than  any  external  record  and  it  suggests  a  power  more 
pervasive,  more  searching  than  that  found  in  the  creeds 
or  the  contributions  of  Christendom. 

And  yet  I  realize  that  the  old  question  is  unan- 
swered. Wherein  lie  the  elements  of  Jesus'  power? 
What  constitutes  the  secret  of  his  leadership? 

Light  eludes  us  when  we  would  confine  and  analyze 
it.;  love  laughs  at  our  definitions  as  it  does  at  bolts 
and  bars.  A  personality  is  great,  not  by  virtue  of  its 
peculiarities,  but  by  virtue  of  its  more  splendid  em- 
bodiment of  the  universalities.  But  this  we  know — 
that  the  two  sovereign  words  in  the  vocabulary  of 
Jesus  were  "Love"  and  "Hone."  He  ministered  to 
the   sick   and    discouraged.      He    soothed    the   maniac 

11 


and  lifted  up  the  prostrate.  Perhaps  in  these  days  the 
verities  of  hope  are  more  distrusted  than  even  the 
claims  of  love.  Jesus  had  tremendous  expectations; 
the  one  inheritance  that  filled  his  soul  was  the  Mes- 
sianic expectation ;  the  one  agitation  of.  his  day  that 
absorbed  him  was  that  which  gave  a  restless  anticipa- 
tion. He  believed  mightily  in  the  future,  not  as 
some  glory-rimmed  heaven  after  death,  but  as  a  con- 
quering kingdom  of  love  and  justice.  Jesus  took  large 
stock  in  tomorrow;  he  laughed  at  the  prudence  that 
never  dares,  the  mock  righteousness  of  the  ledger  that 
presumes  to  balance  the  books  and  pay  all  accounts 
up  to  date.  He  knew  that  the  prudence  of  commerce, 
the  thrift  of  trade,  the  exclusive  pride  of  the  syna- 
gogue, must  be  broken  through  with  a  larger  hope 
and  a  diviner  enterprise.  He  believed  there  was  to 
be  a  day  after  today  and  recognized  his  obligation  to 
it;  he  acknowledged  the  de.bt  which  can  never  be  paid 
to  the  past  and  which  is  paid  only  by  enlarging  the  re- 
sources of  the  future.  Life,  to  Jesus,  was  an  open 
account;  he  was  a  forward  looker;  he  was  honest 
enough  to  recognize  his  obligations  to  the  unborn. 
Perhaps  this  adventurous  spirit  in  the  realms  of 
morals,  even  more  than  his  heart  of  love,  has  made  him 
the  superlative  leader  of  men. 

,  Perhaps  the  most  distinctive  characteristic  of  the 
movement  that  has  taken  his  name  is  represented  by 
the  word  "missionary" — "one  who  is  sent."  "Go  ye 
into  all  the  world  and  preach  the  gospel  to  every  crea- 
ture," is  the  bugle  call  sounded  so  long  ago,  and  the 
blast  has  echoed  inspiringly  throughout  nineteen  cen- 
turies. The  spirit  that  prompted  it  is  a  prompting 
spirit  still ;  the  need  that  made  commanding  the  call 
then  is  imperative  now.  Now  as  then,  there  is  a  tyr- 
anny worse  than  any  shackles  that  ever  chafed  the 
ankles  of  the  slave,  and  that  tyrannv  reaches  into  our 
homes  and  into  the  church.  It  is  the  tyranny  of  cus- 
tom, of  style,  of  fashion,  of  cost,  the  tvranny  of  en- 
gagements that  bind  us  to  our  meaner,  cheaper  selves : 
the  tvranny  of  the  social  intercourse  that  enslaves  and 
dwarfs  the  spirit;  the  tyranny  of  dogma;  the  tyranny 
of  fear. 

12 


Go  forth  and  preach  the  gospel  of  freedom'?  rescue 
those  who  are  drifting  into  imbecility  as  they  float  about 
seeking  the  most  popular  preaching,  the  softest  cush- 
ioned pew,  the  place  where  there  is  most  fashion,  the 
company  that  calls  for  the  least  courage  and  is  satisfied 
with  the  least  intelligence.  Go  forth  and  preach  to 
such.  Go  demonstrate  the  freedom  that  is  possible  to 
them,  if  you  would  know  the  power  of  Jesus.  He 
gives  us  something  to  live  for,  nay,  better,  something 
worth  dying  for;  something  that  is  worth  investing  in. 

What  the  world  most  needs  is  the  faith  of  Jesus,  not 
a  faith  in  Christ.  The  faith  of  Jesus  suggests  some- 
thing to  attain ;  it  indicates  a  measure  of  living,  a 
standard  of  loving",  a  demand  upon  our  lives  and  our 
purses.  The  faith  in  Christ  may  suggest  credal 
fences,  theological  test-lines,  something  in  the  name 
of  which  we  cast  reproach  upon  the  sincere  and  point 
the  door  to  inquiring  souls.  The  faith  of  Jesus  bids 
lis 

"Go   put  your  creed  into  your  deed 
Nor  speak  with  double  tongue. 

"For  sea  and  land  don't  understand, 

Nor  skies  without  a  frown 
See  rights  for  which  the  one  hand  fights 

By  the  other  cloven  down. 

"Be  just  at  home;  then  write  your  scroll 

Of  honor  o'er  the  sea, 
And  bid  the  broad  Atlantic  roll 

A  ferry  of  the  free. 

"And,  henceforth,  there  shall  be  no  chain, 

Save  underneath  the  sea 
The  wires  shall  murmur  through  the  main 

Sweet  songs  of  liberty. 

"The  conscious  stars  accord  above, 

The  waters  wild  below, 
And  under,  through  the  cable  wove, 
1  Her  fiery  errands  go. 

"For  he  that  worketh  high  and  wise, 

Nor  pauses  in  his  plan, 
Will  take  the  sun  out  of  the  skies 

Ere  freedom  out  of  man." 

Would  you  follow  Jesus?  Push  on!  Climb,  dare, 
and  die  daring. 

13 


"Wlry'caile'st.  thou  me  good,  for  there  is  none  good 
save  one — the  Father."  Would  you  follow  Jesus? 
Behave  yourself  and  go  to  work.  Out  of  high  ad- 
venture, self-denial,  oblivion  of  the  past  and  faith  in 
the  future,  build  for  yourself  unconsciously  the  char- 
acter that  is  Jesus-like.  "Tell  the  truth?"  That  is 
easy.  Be  the  truth.  Be  generous  with  what  a  gen- 
erous universe  has  bountifully  bestowed  upon  you  for 
immediate  investment;  now  is  the  accepted  hour. 
Tomorrow  is  not  yours.  Today  is  the  only  day  that 
is  yours. 

"Love  your  enemies?"  you  say.  Yes,  but  complete 
your  text.  "Do  good  to  them  that  hate  you;  pray 
for  those  that  despitefully  use  you." 

Would  you  be  of  the  household  of  Jesus?  Have 
fellowship  with  the  bad ;  not  for  the  badness'  sake,  but 
for  the  good  that  is  tragically  encrusted  there.  Weep 
not  chiefly  for  the  starving  children  of  the  slums  in 
the  back  alleys  of  Jerusalem  (there  were  not  many 
such),  but  for  the  thoughtless,  shivering  egotists  who 
beneath  their  wide  phvlacteries  "mock  heaven  with 
high-sounding  pravers."  As  it  was  in  Jerusalem  so  is 
it  in  Chicago.  The  dissipated  live  on  the  avenues, 
the  perishing  on  the  boulevards. 

Dare  you  call  Jesus  "Master?"  Then,  like  him,  be- 
lieve in  the  unbeliever,  have  a  hope  for  the  hopeless, 
belong  to  the  church  of  the  unchurched;  escape  from 
your  narrowness ;  act  from  principle  and  not  from  pru- 
dence; divest  yourself  of  all  accumulation  that  holds 
you  down  with  a  complacency  that  makes  you  blind 
not  only  to  the  good  you  ought  to  do,  but  to  the  good 
you  can  do.  "If  thou  wouldst  be  perfect,  go  sell  that 
thou  hast  and  give  to  the  poor,  and  thou  shalt  have 
treasure  in  heaven." 

Do  you  ask  me  if  I  am  a  "Christian?"  I  do  not 
know.  Are  you?  If  any  one  is  inclined  to  give  me 
that  high  name,  with  the  spiritual  and  ethical  connota- 
tion in  mind,  I  am  complimented  and  will  try  to 
merit  it.  But  whenever  it  is  used  as  a  herding 
song,  when  Christians  are  gathered  together  like 
sheep  in  the  pen,  by  themselves,  when  it  becomes  the 

14 


pencil  on  the  leg  of  the  compass  that  mark's  the'.circum- 
ference  of  fellowship, — as  I  honor  the  great  Naza- 
rene  leader  I  refuse  the  word  and  deny  its  limitations 
and  promptly  go  outside  where  the  son  of  the  carpenter 
went  before  me. 

I  once  wore  the  name  "Unitarian"  because  I  loved 
the  hint  of  unity  involved  in  the  name.  I  now  prefer 
not  to  wear  it  for  the  same  reason, — because  there 
is  a  brotherhood  that  is  mine  which  the  name  does  not 
and  cannot  include.  Any  word  that  overlooks  or 
repels  the  seekers  after  goodness, — aye,  even  those 
who  miss  goodness  and  suffer  the  penalty  thereof,  is 
too  small  a  word  to  represent  that  procession  of 
which  the  carpenter's  son  is  a  sublime  leader.  In 
him  the  Word  became  flesh.  In  so  far,  then,  as  I  am 
a  man,  I  am  of  his  household.  Through  the  power  of 
his  nobility  he  became  the  Son  of  God.  In  so  far  as 
I  partake  of  that  nobility,  I  also  am  a  son  of  God.  He 
delighted  in  the  phrase  "the  Son  of  Man,"  which  he 
used  many  times.  In  the  fullness  of  this  title,  he  occa- 
sionally ventured  to  call  himself  the  Son  of  God. 

"Man  I  am  and  man  would  be,  Love,  merest  man  and  nothing 

more. 
Bid   me   seem  no   other!      Eagles   boast  of  pinions — let   them 

soar! 
I   may  put   forth   angel 's   plumage,   once   unmanned,    but   not 

before. 

"Now  on  earth,  to  stand  suffices, — nay,  if  kneeling  serves,  to 

kneel : 
Here  yon  front  me,  here  I  find  the  all  of  heaven  that  earth 
can   feel. ' ' 


Into  the  woods  my  Master  went, 

Clean  forspent,  forspent. 

Into  the  woods  my  Master  came, 

Forspent  with  love  and  shame. 

But  the  olives  they  were  not  blind  to  Him, 

The  little  gray  leaves  were  kind  to  Him: 

The  thorn-tree  had  a  mind  to  Him 

When  into  the  woods  He  came. 


Out  of  the  woods  my  Master  went, 

And  he  was  well  content. 

Out  of  the  woods  my  Master  came, 

Content  with  death  and  shame. 

When  Death  and  Shame  would  woo  Him  last, 

From  under  the  trees  they  drew  Him  last: 

'Twas  on  a  tree  they  slew  Him — last 

When  out  of  the  woods  He  came. 

— Sidney  Lanier. 


Caylord  Bros. 

Makers 

Syracuse,  N.  Y. 

PAT.  JAN.  21.  1900 


yc  \o) 


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